Everyone in the alley froze. Symon, the ring of builders that surrounded him, and of course the unconscious Boyan. Whatever voice had commanded everyone to halt didn't just expect their order to be followed, they knew it would be.
"Move aside immediately," the same voice said. There wasn't any anger in the tone, simply a monotone, business-as-usual command. The accent was similar to that of the Baron's, but when the builders pressed themselves against the walls of the alley to allow the two armed and armoured men to approach, Symon saw that the voice belonged to someone different.
One was slightly taller than the other, but that was the only difference between the two. They were both wearing full-plate armour like a European knight, while their hands rested on a sword sheathed at their hips. Even the inexperienced Symon could tell that both the armour and weapon were high quality, the steel polished to a mirror finish. Confidently, they strolled past the builder, their heavy footfalls slamming into the ground with every step. They each had a small, red and gold cape over one shoulder. The shorter man had a more ornate cape, with more gold inlays.
The same colour as the Baron's outfit, Symon remembered.
The one with the fancier cape approached Symon, while the other one began silently staring at the builders. They all averted their gaze.
Fancy-Cape raised his sallet, exposing a classically handsome face. Thick eyebrows, a sharp nose, and a strong jaw framed intense blue eyes. "Kinsman? I do not recognise you from the ship," he asked, although Symon felt it was more of a statement.
"No, sir, I'm just a wandering healer from the desert," he answered anyway.
The knight, or whatever he was, raised an eyebrow in surprise, although not at the part Symon expected. "You're a healer? Are you able to prove it?" he asked.
"Sure, uh, I mean yes sir," Symon said. He pulled his sword slightly out of its sheath, and softly ran his finger against the edge of the blade before putting it back down. The other man hadn't reacted to Symon reaching for his weapon beyond carefully observing. Next, he showed the slowly bleeding cut off, before flicking the blood off and wiping the remainder off. When he showed his finger again, the cut was gone.
Satisfied, he nodded. "I am Guard Captain Fons, but you may simply call me by my name if you give me yours. No need for formalities. You said you came from the desert?"
"I'm Symon, nice to meet you. And yes, I came from the desert. I've been exploring around with some Dumosan adventurers," he added. He still had his old cover story of being an amnesiac, but he didn't think it was particularly believable, so he'd just keep it to himself for now unless specifically asked. He couldn't think of anything better that would explain why he looked similar to the imperials that didn't reveal he was from another world. He could just agree with whatever assumptions they made.
"I see. You do not have any brand or tattoo?" he said in a polite yet bored tone.
"Nothing of the sort, Captain Fons," he said with a strained smile. His tattoo had simply appeared when he'd wanted a visual indication of his current vitality reserves without needing to check his Ledger, so he focused his thoughts and asked the Ledger to get rid of it for now. It had always responded to his intentions, so he just had to hope it worked.
"You wouldn't mind me checking?" Fons asked. Symon wasn't sure what the importance of this was, and he didn't have time to check with Keelgrave. Their mental communication was faster than speaking aloud, but it would still take a suspiciously long time to figure things out.
"Of course not, there's just a slight problem with my magic. Would we be able to speak in private?" he asked. He was fine with telling others he had uncontrollable magic that could harm others if he got close, but he'd ideally keep it to himself and not risk getting ostracised by the community as some kind of leper. In contrast, the true extent of his healing magic, his nature as a World Traveller, his blessings from two gods, and also the ghost in his vessel were things he wanted to keep secret from everyone. The Dumosans knew how powerful his healing was, but everything else was still secret.
"That is fine," Fons said before giving a hand signal to his guard partner and walking further down the alley with Symon, away from prying eyes. "What was the issue?"
"My magic, it starts harming people who get too close, it's some type of curse. About two metres from me is the limit," he explained.
"Curious, do you know the source of this curse?"
"Nope," Symon replied honestly. He had some theories regarding his blessings, but nothing solid. "I'm hoping to gain more control over it as Ievel it, but currently I can't get close to people without hurting them." Symon left out the part where he hadn't made any progress towards directly controlling his draining. He'd been hoping the evolution at level 20 would help, or at least point him in the right direction.
The guard captain stroked his chin. "Interesting, I haven't heard of anything like that, but I'm hardly a curse expert. In that case, would you mind moving your collar so I could inspect for brands?"
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"Of course," Symon said, doing as asked while trying to hide his confusion. When he raised his hand to his collar, he saw that his chalice tattoo had faded away. He blew out a sigh of relief he didn't even notice he'd been building up.
After a cursory examination, Fons must have decided that things were fine, as he pulled back and relaxed slightly. "Everything checks out, of course. My apologies for the suspicion, but I'm sure you understand it's just standard procedure."
"Of course, you're just doing your job," he replied with a smile that masked his complete confusion at the process. Maybe it was like Japan, where some people saw tattoos as only for criminals. He'd watched a documentary, once.
"With that out of the way, can you explain what this incident was all about?"
"Ah, well, I'm honestly not really sure. I asked for directions to the mayor's house—"
"The former mayor," Fons cut in. Despite the interruption, his tone wasn't hostile.
"Right, sorry, I asked for directions to the former mayor's house. That man back there on the ground, Boyan I think his name was, took offence to my question. He started accusing me of all these insane things like being some type of monster, then he got all up in my face. He said something about proving himself to some woman, but I'm not sure if that was the truth or if he was just talking crazy. Then he came at me with a hammer, we tussled for a bit, and I eventually knocked him out right before you arrived."
"Hmm, that hammer on the ground down there was his?"
Symon looked back to where Fons was gesturing. "Yeah, that one. He got me pretty good in the ribs a few times, but I've healed it all up so the injuries aren't there any more. All the builders around us saw it happen, though."
The guard captain waved off Symon's assurances. "Not to worry, I believe you. And do you believe that man was aware you possessed a Healer class at the time of the attack?"
"Uh, yeah, I told him I was a Healer when he asked who I was. He probably thought I was an easy target because of it," Symon said. From what he'd been told, it was rare for Healer classes to actually go adventuring, or to even see any combat. Most of them lived cushy lives in big cities — why risk your life in the wilds when you could be paid more, be safer, and have access to all the comforts and commodities of a city? And those rare healers who were part of adventuring parties tended to stay safe in the back while everyone else fought. They certainly weren't swinging a sword around in melee with vicious monsters like Symon had been.
"Hmm, let's see..." Fons said, taking out a small notebook and writing something in it with an attached pencil. "Assault with a weapon against a protected class, quite a serious crime. Rest assured that we'll handle things from here, Healer Symon."
"Thanks Captain Fons, I'd shake your hand, but, you know," he said with a smile.
"Of course," the other man said with a nod. He pointed to the still-under-construction building that all the workers had been on. "This is to be our future barracks, so come by here if you have any more problems. Oh, and did you still need those directions?"
----------------------------------------
"Well, that could have gone better," Symon said to his unwilling spirit guide. "Fons was pretty nice, at least. Although I feel like things went a little too smoothly for me with this questioning. He really didn't seem too bothered by me randomly showing up in the village out of nowhere."
"Hmm, maybe. You got any idea why that dude hated me so bad? Oh, and what's up with being checked for a brand?"
Symon frowned. Slavery? It was easy for him to think of this world as just medieval with magic, but it had actually seemed more progressive. The age of adulthood was higher than it was on Earth, as long as you accounted for the longer days which worked out to each year being roughly a quarter larger than the Gregorian Calendar, and child marriages were illegal. Judging by Safiya and a few of the miners he'd seen, women weren't relegated to specific roles either. The Ledger equalised most differences between the sexes, and at least in Dumosan culture, they were equal in rights and responsibilities.
That was why Symon was surprised by the legality of slavery, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. It would be easy for someone to claim they were superior when the Ledger breaks down everyone's worth into hard numbers.
Symon sighed as he approached the door to the mayor's house, his club now returned to its position strapped to his back. Of course, this world was far from being a paradise. He checked over his appearance as he stood outside the door, trying to flatten down his clothes that had been creased in his scuffle. He looked fine, but he wished he could have had a shower or bath first. Washing in a river just wasn't the same.
Symon tucked some of his too-long hair behind his ears and, as satisfied with his appearance as he was going to get, raised his hand to knock on the door.
"I can't believe you'd just roll over like that!" shouted a voice from inside. It was male, and strong enough that Symon knew it couldn't have belonged to the weak old mayor. The elderly man's reply must have been too weak for Symon to overhear, but he did hear the first man respond to whatever was said. "I know, father, it's just... we're really all going to..." he trailed off.
Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, Symon knocked on the door. He heard movement inside, then the door opened to reveal what must have been the mayor's son. He was a tired-looking middle-aged man, whose hair was dark with many flecks of grey.
"Can I help you?" the man asked, his tone making it clear he really didn't want to.
"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you," he replied, feeling like a door-to-door salesman. "I'm a Healer by class and trade, so I wish to offer my services to the mayor, and anyone else who needs it."
The man in the doorway frowned. "Just because he's the mayor doesn't mean he's rich, you know? We can't afford any magical healing."
"I'm not here to bleed you guys dry, I just want a place to sleep, food to eat, and enough money to afford passage on the next trade ship. You think we can make a deal?"
He considered for a few moments before sighing and gesturing inwards. "Fine, come in and follow me to the study." Well, Symon had hoped for a warmer reception, but he was sure things would improve once his magic got to work. It was hard to dislike the healer, after all.
"Oh uh, I'll need to follow at least two metres of distance behind you. I have a harmful ability I can't turn off, but you're perfectly safe as long as you keep as far from me as you are now."
"What the hells kind of Healer has an ability like that?"
"A cursed one," Symon said with a smile.